


War Games

by driveinbingo



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, and Harry's very embarrassing, they're very dumb and very much in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driveinbingo/pseuds/driveinbingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Nick had wanted a normal relationship, he probably shouldn't have given his entire heart to professional competitive asshole Louis Tomlinson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Games

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations to me, who finally managed to finish something. It only took 84 years.
> 
> Massive thank you to my girl Loops for being the nitpickiest beta ever, for allowing me to bounce all my ridiculous ideas off her, and for all the cake.

Like most other things, it starts when Louis does something he clearly wasn’t supposed to do. For one, he wasn’t meant to find the present – aside from the deceptively anonymous plastic bag it’s in, he also found it stuffed in the back of Nick’s half of the closet. On the top shelf, where he usually keeps everything he doesn’t want Louis to get his hands on, for one reason or another. He was also most definitely not supposed to open it. Because there’s also a note. From the looks of it, hastily scribbled, in Nick’s familiar chicken scratch:

_If you’ve found this, don’t open it_

_And on the back,_

_I bloody well mean it Louis >:(_

Louis is torn. On the one hand, Nick’s clearly gone to a lot of trouble to keep it from him. But then again, he’s very bored and very alone and Nick left very early this morning for work, even though Louis only flew in last night after three weeks away on tour, which is, frankly, terribly rude and unheard of.

He also can’t find his favourite hoodie of Nick’s, the one that’s gone all soft and frayed and threadbare from use – it smells like Nick’s favourite detergent and Nick’s cologne and Nick and  _home_ , and Louis had thrown a fit when he found it in a bag of old clothes going to Oxfam last year. It’s been granted amnesty now, and Louis practically lives in it his first few days back – it makes him feel grounded and safe and protected, although he only told Nick he wanted to keep it because it was  _comfy and not as terrible as the rest of your clothes._

And now Nick’s gone and put it away somewhere, which is why Louis ended up on this bloody scavenger hunt in the first place, and why Nick deserves being disobeyed.

He takes a final look at the note, wondering what on earth could have compelled Nick to believe that the words ”don’t do it” would somehow work on him, before flopping down next to Pig on the unmade bed and upending the bag, shiny black gift-box tumbling out. It’s even got a ridiculous little bow on it.

”We’re not telling Nick about this, are we?”, he says to Pig. She snuffles and flops around a bit, landing in his lap. ”That’s right”, he says, giving her belly a little scratch before picking up the box and wriggling the lid off.

It’s clearly for him, going by just the first few words of the note hiding whatever is inside:

 _Hi darling_ , it says, followed by a tiny, hand-drawn heart.

Louis knows that heart – he’s got a similar one tattooed on the inside of his right arm, next to the fat bird. For almost three months, before he came out, while they were still the world’s best-kept secret, he carried a piece of Nick with him, hiding in plain sight. It was exhilarating and scary and so, so wonderful – a part of his life meant just for him, and Nick, and the few people they allowed inside their little bubble.

Seeing the heart makes a fresh wave of guilt wash over him, but he’s also really curious now – his birthday was over a month ago, their anniversary isn’t for another five, and while Nick’s not a stranger to romantic gestures, he normally keeps them quite casual – breakfast in bed, messy sex on the kitchen counter – but not  _this_. Not neatly wrapped presents stashed away in secret hiding places.

Squinting, he picks up the note and continues to read.

_I know we said we wouldn’t do this, but I saw this and just thought of you. It’s not much, really – not that you need any more useless things, popstar – just a little reminder that I love             you very much. Happy valentine’s day sweetheart!_

_Nick xxx_

That fucking _twat_ , Louis thinks, lifting up the box and examining the content. Nick was right – it’s not much, at least not at first sight. It’s just a keychain - a tiny, meticulously made porcelain swallow dangling on the end of a little silver chain, attached to a loop on the other end. To most people, it’s just what Nick had promised – _not much, really_ – but Louis sees more.

 

He sees the two of them curled around each other on the sofa – the very same sofa they had messy, frantic sex on the minute Louis got through the door last night – on the night almost two and a half years ago when they decided that this thing they’d been doing had come to a point where it was either all in or all out. Louis had been terrified, had spent hours on the phone with his mum, with Liam, with Harry, who’d all told him the same thing: talk to him. Because he was about to leave for tour again, and he’d be gone for three months, and he’d realised he was stupid, stupid in love with Nick, who was too good and amazing to sit around and wait for Louis while he travelled around the world. So they’d sat there, and Louis had been shaking, so in love and so afraid to lose it.

”I’ll be gone so much”, he’d said, not daring to look at Nick, ”and I completely understand if you don’t want to wait.”

”I know”, Nick had said. ”But I want to. I’m going to. And I’ll still want you when you come back.”

”It’s not fair to you.” His heart had been pounding and it was terrifying to hope, but he had hoped so much. He still had to push it, had to stab at the wound, had to make sure Nick knew that he knew what he was asking. ”You deserve so much more than someone who’s gone all the time and who’s not even _out_ yet, _God_.”

”Don’t tell me what I deserve”, Nick had said, his voice a little stern. ”I know what I’m getting myself into.”

”I’m like one of them birds”, Louis had sniffled, ”those really shit ones that just up and leave for half the year”.

”A swallow?” Nick’s voice had been amused, which was too much for Louis, because it gave him hope, and he didn’t know if he could afford to hope just yet.

”Yeah. I’m a shitty swallow and I’m gonna leave you.”

”Well then, you’re my shitty swallow.”

Louis had laughed then, a watery little giggle that was part hope, part Nick being ridiculous.

”That’s really, really stupid”, he’d said, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

 

So, this is just - it’s thoughtful and lovely and  _perfect_. So perfect.

It’s perfect and Louis is absolutely furious.

They had sworn, both of them, that they weren’t going to do anything about Valentine’s. They were going to let it slide, ignore it completely, Nick on the basis that he thought it was a stupid tradition anyway, Louis because it just represented a new opportunity for him to forget something important, or another big day where he’d be unavailable or halfway around the world yet again. And so, for the past three years, they’ve ignored it completely, and it’s been fine. They’ve been _fine_.

”Your dad’s a bit of an idiot”, he says to Pig, conversationally. ”A big fat lying idiot.”

Valentine’s wasn’t for them, and now Nick, the absolute bastard, has gone ahead and proved himself more attentive and sweet than Louis yet again, and he’ll end up looking like a negligent arse. This won’t do. He’ll have to do him one better. Nick’s not winning this time.

*

He doesn’t mention it when Nick gets home later, wrapping his long, lanky body around Louis where he’s standing at the counter making a cup of tea.

”Hiya, love”, he says, kissing Louis’ temple. ”Sorry I had to leave so early. If it helps, it was really bloody difficult leaving you there, all naked and alone…and naked.”

”Was it now?” Louis asks, turning around in his arms and tucking his head underneath Nick’s chin.

”Absolutely”, he mumbles, vibrations travelling from the top of Louis’ head all the way down his spine.”Toughest decision I’ve made in my life.”

”Good”, Louis mumbles against his shirt. ”I hope you suffered all day without me.”

”Nearly died, didn’t I? Almost didn’t make it home.”

They stand there for a moment, breathing each other in. Louis can practically feel the irritation seep out of his body, nearly forgetting that he’s got a bone to pick with Nick.

”I can’t find my hoodie”, he says, cheek still pressed against Nick’s chest. ”What did you do to it?”

Nick draws away, looking at him with a barely concealed smirk. ”I didn’t do anything to it.”

”Then why can’t I bloody find it? I spent hours looking through the place and the house’s not that big.”

Nick laughs and bends down to press a kiss to his cheek. ”It’s in the last place you’d think to look”, he says, walking towards the bathroom.

”What’s that supposed to mean?”, Louis calls after him, ”the roof?”

”Not that far”, Nick smiles, turning around. ”Laundry room, love.”

He’s very lucky Louis only makes to throw his tea after him.

*

”When you said you’d looked through the entire house – did you mean, like… all of it?”

Louis barely catches the whole sentence, half asleep with his head on Nick's shoulder. He's been fighting a hopeless battle against jet lag since they curled up in front of the TV an hour ago, plot of the current episode of EastEnders making less and less sense every time he blearily opens his eyes after nodding off yet again. 

He blinks sleepily up at Nick. "What do you mean?"

Nick shoots him a glance, chewing on his bottom lip. "I mean, did you look - everywhere?"

"I guess", Louis says, stifling a yawn against Nick's jumper. "Obviously not the laundry room, but - yeah, pretty much all over the place. Why?"

"Hm", Nick says, frowning and then quickly schooling his features into something more neutral. "Nothing, really."

It's quiet for a few moments before he speaks up again.

"You didn't - I don't know, find anything, did you?"

 _Oh_ , Louis thinks.  _That's_  what this is then. 

"No", he lies, "not that I can think of."

"You sure?"

"Was there something I was  _supposed_  to not find?"

"No", says Nick, suddenly too busy flicking through the channels to even look at him. "It was nothing. Nevermind."

"You're a worse liar than Liam, you know."

"Shouldn't you give up trying to stay awake and go to bed soon?"

"Your distraction techniques are a bit shit, too."

"Shut up."

Louis bites his shoulder but lets the discussion lie for now. It's better if Nick doesn't suspect that he's onto him, anyway. 

*

When he checks the closet after Nick leaves for work the next morning, the present is gone. Okay then. Game on.

*

After two cups of tea, a rummage through the kitchen cupboards delivering nothing but a stale piece of toast, and a total of zero brilliant ideas, he gives up and calls Harry. 

"I need your help", he says before Harry gets a word in, "it's urgent."

"Hang on", Harry says, "just gonna go somewhere more private."

Louis chews on a hardened piece of bread absentmindedly, listening to Harry opening and closing what sounds like at least a dozen doors. 

"All right", he says, the background noise reduced to nearly nothing, "what's wrong?"

"It's Nick", Louis sighs.

Harry draws in a sharp breath. "Oh, no - did you two-"

"He bought me a gift for Valentine's day."

There's silence on the other end.

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"Lou", Harry groans. "It's half eight in the morning."

"I'm painfully aware of that."

"You shouldn't even be awake, much less bothering me with your non-problems."

"It's a huge problem, you wanker. Massive. And anyway, I'm still jetlagged as fuck. Been up for an hour already."

"Right", Harry drawls, "are you going to tell me why Nick spending money on you is such a misfortune?"

"I will once you drag your arse over here."

"I'm not gonna -"

"- and bring breakfast. I'm starving."

*

The doorbell chimes an hour later, while Louis is in the kitchen throwing a tiny ball around for Pig to chase. She nearly trips him over in her haste to get there first, claws clicking across the hardwood floor.

"I told you to use the key", Louis whines when he opens the door to an annoyingly fresh-faced Harry. "You know how she gets", he says, referring to Pig pawing away at Harry's legs even though he's not even over the threshold yet. 

"I thought you said only to use it in emergencies", Harry says, trying to get Pig to stop sniffing at the brown take-out bag he's got in his right hand. It's got no grease stains. Louis suspects Harry's mistaken "breakfast" for "something green and leafy and unpronounceable" yet again.

"This _is_  an emergency", he huffs, snatching the bag from Harry and leading the way to the kitchen. "Another hour and I'd have starved to death, probably."

Harry dumps the rest of his bags on the table and opens the pantry next to the fridge. "You've got tons of food right here."

"That's  _oatmeal_."

"And?"

Louis groans. "I honestly don't know why I'm friends with you." He opens the paper bag and peers inside. "If this is kale I'm taking your key privileges away."

"It's a breakfast burrito, idiot", Harry says, slouching down in a chair, "I have learned  _something_  from being friends with you for nine years. Now will you please tell me why I had to leave a meeting early to come over here and solve your problems for you?"

Ah, yes. The problem. It's not that Louis doesn't know his boyfriend and what he likes - it's more that he doesn't understand a lot of it. Harry, on the other hand, shares his affinity for weird-ass silk scarves and ugly art and loud shirts worth more than a regular person's monthly income, and his expertise is needed. This has to be spectacular.

"So Nick got me a fucking present for Valentine's day", he says, chewing, "even though we agreed we weren't gonna do it."

Harry frowns slowly. "So... you're mad because he broke the rules?"

"No", Louis whines, already impatient, "I'm mad because he's going to win."

Confusion is written all over Harry's face. "Win what, exactly?" For such a morning person, he's surprisingly useless today, which is the opposite of what Louis needs. He needs Harry at his best.

"Fuck's sake, Haz - if he surprises me with the world's most thoughtful gift and I have nothing, who's the best boyfriend?"

"Lou", Harry sighs, having the nerve to sound disappointed, "it's not a competition."

"Of course it is. Don't be an idiot."

Harry looks pained. Personally, Louis thinks he can shut it with the relationship advice until he's had one that's lasted longer than six months, but he doesn't say that. He's not  _that_  much of an arsehole.

"Anyway, that's why I need your help."

"Please don't drag me into your weird games."

Louis thwacks him over the head, settling down in the chair next to him. "I'm not dragging you into anything. I just need some advice."

"On what?" Harry asks, looking very dubious, as if Louis is going to ask him for sex tips. If there's one department him and Nick don't need any help in, it's that.

"Obviously, I need to get him something even better - something  _amazing_."

Harry smiles at that. "It doesn't have to be mindblowing, Lou - you know he loves you no matter what you give him."

"I know", Louis scoffs, "it's not about that." 

"It's not?" 

"Honestly, will you at least try to keep up? It has to be so incredible that when he sees it, he feels embarrassed about what he gave me. I want him to open it and think  _shit, Louis truly is better than me and he will always be and I don't know why I even bother._ "

"Lou -"

"I want him to  _cry_."

"Oh my God", Harry says, looking terrified, which is always a good sign that Louis at least has done something right.

"So, any ideas? Anything he's been talking 'bout lately?"

Harry slumps forward in something that reads a lot like defeat. ”I hate you”, he sighs, and then he opens up something on his phone and stares intently at it, chewing on his bottom lip.

”All right, well, there’s this”, he says, angling the phone in Louis’ direction. Excellent, Louis thinks. Yes. Perfect.

*

It arrives two days later, although _arriving_ is not quite covering something that requires two well-built men to carry from the back of a Ford Transit to the living room. It isn’t until after Louis has paid the transport men for their discretion and services and sent them on their way that he realizes he’s got nowhere to hide it, let alone the strength to move it anywhere on his own.

He hadn’t planned to get Liam tangled up in his little gift exchange as well, it’s just that he’s the only one currently in town likely to a) willingy answer a call from Louis before 8 am and b) have the arm strength to actually be helpful. He could always call Alberto, but in all honesty, he deserves these two weeks off even more than Louis does. So Liam it is.

”It’s a bit big”, says Liam less than an hour later while doing some fancy-looking measurements with his hands. He always looks so adept, Liam does, like you could give him some wood and he’d build you a sturdy raft to take you safely over a river.

”It’s supposed to be”, Louis sniffs, ”it’s supposed to stand out. You know, a statement piece. That’s what Hazza said, anyway.”

”I didn’t know Grimmy was such a big fan of clocks”, Liam says, giving the dark wood a light shove. To tests its sturdiness, Louis guesses. He’s not about to question Liam when he looks all capable and stuff.

”It’s a grandfather clock, Liam. You don’t need a clock fetish to appreciate a grandfather clock I don’t think.”

Liam frowns. ”Still, you could’ve made this a lot easier for yourself. I mean, if you just wanted to give him something nice, why not, I don’t know, a nice watch or something? Soph was so-”

”Because”, Louis interrupts, not having the patience to listen to Liam’s lovely story about Sophia’s Christmas present for the twelfth time, ”he’ll never suspect this. Harry said he’s been swooning over this stupid clock for months, even dragged him along to the antiques shop in Camden to show him, but he never mentioned it to me because he thinks I’d hate it and refuse to have it in the living room, apparently.”

”Do you? Hate it?”

”Well, I mean, I wouldn’t have picked it myself, but it’s not so bad. Dunno where he got that from, really. I don’t really care enough about furniture to actively hate it.”

”And yet you’re buying furniture as a romantic gesture”, Liam laughs. ”You really are growing up.”

”Shut up and help me carry this thing to the van.”

Liam’s going to keep it in his garage, next to the Lamborghini and his two other cars, for the next two weeks, because Louis doesn’t trust his nosy boyfriend and Liam is a saint.

*

”Hey, Lou?” Nick calls from the hallway later that night, while Louis is neck-deep in the sofa cushions. ”Can you come here for a second?” Louis can only groan in response, hopefully loud enough for Nick to hear over the TV.

”Please love, come look at something for me.”

Nick’s standing in the middle of the room, cocking his head this way and that looking at something at his feet.

”What is it?”, Louis asks, coming to stand next to him and snatching a chip from the bowl Nick is holding. He was supposed to get it and come right back to the living room, not force Louis to come look at a piece of floor on the way back.

Nick squints at the ground. ”Is that a scratch?” he says, jutting his chin out to indicate where he’s looking.

It most definitely is.

”Can’t see anything”, Louis croaks. ”C’mon, Pig’s getting lonely.”

”No, no, look. Right there.”

Louis looks. Right at the two-inch long scrape that the clock must’ve left when his arms gave out halfway to the door twelve hours earlier. 

”It wasn’t there this morning I think”, Nick says.

”Do you inspect our hardwood floors every morning before you leave for work then?”

”No, but I spilled some coffee here today and had to wipe it up. I would’ve noticed.”

”S’ probably Pig. I told you her claws were getting long.”

Nick looks dumbly at Louis. ”Pig? Really? Lou, that looks like something a grizzly bear would leave. Last I checked, Pig was still about the same size as a handbag.”

Fucking Nick and his fucking logic, Louis thinks, trying to defuse the situation. He didn’t watch Liam struggle and almost die for nearly half an hour only to have Nick ruin the surprise by being so bloody observant.

”Well, maybe you did it with your stupid heels then, I don’t know.”

”They’re Chelsea boots”, Nick says, ”they don’t have spikes for heels, exactly. This looks like something big did it. Like someone dropped a piano on the floor or something.”

”Whatever”, Louis sighs, ”is it that important that you find out why it’s there? It’s not like we haven’t got the money to fix it.”

He starts making his way back to the living room, praying that Nick can just let it go.

”Louis”, Nick says from behind him, sounding awfully suspicious. ”Did you buy a piano?”

”Yes, Nicholas”, Louis deadpans. He turns around slowly, arms up and palms to the ceiling in a gesture of surrender. ”You got me. I bought a giant piano, had it delivered while you were out, ruined the floor with it, and didn’t tell you because I knew a piano was something I’d be able to keep a secret forever. You know, since pianos are so small and easy to hide.”

Nick considers him for a moment, then sighs. ”Why can’t you ever just say yes or no like a normal person?”

”Because it’s very important that I rub in just how stupid you are sometimes.” He preens and grabs Nick arm so he can lead them back to the sofa and the TV and the important things in life.

”Maybe it’s time we took Pig to the vet and had her claws checked”, Nick murmurs from behind him.

Later, while Louis curls up in bed waiting for Nick to finish up in the bathroom, Pig jumps up and starts settling in for the night. ”Sorry girl”, Louis whispers, rubbing her bony little head. ”I didn’t mean to drag your name down in the mud. It’s really not my fault your dad is so gullible.”

 *

Four days later, Louis is mostly asleep against the window of a private plane, finally on his way back from a promo day trip to Paris. Not that they really need to do any sort of promo for the upcoming European tour – it’s been sold out for six months already – but they do have commitments and it was only for a day and then they’d get to go back home and have another ten days off. At least those were the arguments Nick had used to placate Louis when he’d thrown a tiny tantrum about having to leave again the previous night.

He’s good in a crisis, Nick is. Louis doesn’t think he would have coped with the madness that followed them going public two years ago without him there to hold his hand. Sometimes he even thinks he wouldn’t have done it for anyone but Nick.

He yawns and smiles into his jumper at the thought of surprising him by coming home a day earlier than anticipated. When he’d called him from the airport to let him know they’d decided to stay overnight since things had dragged out longer and none of them could really stomach the idea of arriving home in the middle of the night, Nick had audibly pouted, but said he understood. He knows what it’s like, having been the boyfriend of an international pop star for nearly three years.

He’s not as overjoyed as Louis would have liked him to be when he throws his bag on the floor and toes off his shoes a little after eleven, though. Rather, he looks quite alarmed, leaning on the kitchen counter with a phone to his ear.

”Gotta go”, he says to whoever is on the other end, and then ”sorry, I can’t –”, before frowning hard while hanging up.

”You’re home, then!” he yelps, throwing his phone away like it’s suddenly made of lava.

”Did I interrupt your scheduled liaison with your secret lover?”

”What”, Nick laughs, and then goes a bit red.

”Who was that, then?”

He’s not really jealous. The younger, infinitely more insecure Louis who’d once flown home for two days just to make sure that Nick hadn’t grown tired of waiting for him and his absent pop star ways, would maybe had been a bit worried. But they’d only been seeing each other officially for a month then, after first five years of indifference and six months of secret shagging. He’d never had a boyfriend before and his last proper relationship before that had crumbled rather spectacularly because Louis was never there, not really, so it’s no wonder he was a bit insecure. But him and Nick are real now, have been for so long. They bought a house together. No, he’s not jealous. But it’s fun to pretend sometimes.

”No one”, Nick says, far too quick. Then he coughs, as if that’s going to make him look any less suspicious.

”Are you on the phone with me mum again?”

There had been a period, just before him and the boys were heading back in the studio to start recording their surprise comeback album, when Louis had been awfully nervous that no one would want them to come back again, especially with him out and in a relationship with someone that had inspired divisive feelings within their fanbase, to put it gently. He’d been a bit of a wreck, really, and Nick had taken up calling his mum a little too often for Louis’ liking, so they could be concerned together.

”Yeah, that’s it. You got me”, Nick lies. It’s a bit cute that he thinks he can get away with it. He’s rubbing behind his left ear with two fingers - the worst tell in the world.

”Well, next time tell her I’m fine and that she can call me herself if she’s worried.” Louis shuffles over to Nick and throws his arms around his neck. He’d go up on tiptoes for a kiss, but honestly, he just got off a plane after an 18-hour workday, so it’s Nick’s turn to do the work.

”All right”, he sighs, planting a kiss in Louis’ hair. ”Pig’s gonna be awfully grumpy you’re back early, by the way. I promised her she could have your spot in the bed tonight.”

”Is that code for _welcome home I missed you and I’m gonna show you just how much by giving you a blowjob later?”_

”Oh absolutely”, Nick says, giving his bum a little grope.

There’s plenty of time to get to the bottom of the phone call tomorrow, Louis supposes.

*

”He’s onto you”, Harry says into the phone the next morning, ”also I hate you and I told you not to involve me in your weird mating rituals.” There’s the distinct sound of a brook babbling in the background – Louis is not quite sure where, exactly, Harry is, but he’s definitely in the presence of a brook.

”What did you tell him?”, he snaps. ”Also, is that a brook? Where are you?”

Harry sighs long-sufferingly, the way you do when two of your best friends get together and somehow manage to drag you into their shenanigans and you know that it’s partly your fault. Louis is convinced Harry spends at least 50% of his time regretting ever suggesting he could keep himself occupied during the break getting to the bottom of the ’weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with Grimmy’ – Harry’s words, not his.

”I didn’t tell him anything – well, not anything specific, at least. He knows you found the first present because you put the lid back on the wrong way”- Louis huffs at himself. _Amateur mistake_. –” and he got even more suspicious when he found the marks on the floor – how did you do that, anyway? Did you try to move it by yourself?”

” _No –”_

”I told you it was too big –”

”Look, I had Liam over to help me but it was the weight of a baby elephant, which you conveniently left out-”

”It’s a grandfather clock, Lou. They’re big”, Harry says matter-of-factly. The brook babbles in agreement. ”But anyway, he doesn’t know _what_ it is – but he knows that it’s something.”

”Because you told him”, Louis accuses.

”He had me cornered.”

”You’re _useless_.”

”Heeeyy”, Harry pouts. ”That’s not fair. You know I hate lying and you’re both my friends – I told you-”

”Yeah, yeah, whatever”, Louis says, waving him off. This won’t do. ”So what’s he planning?”

” _Louis._ ” Harry sounds almost pained.

”You ruined my surprise. You owe me.”

”If I tell you, you have to promise to keep me out of it.”

”Sure.”

”I mean it. I’m not helping you out with this anymore. I tell you and I’m out.”

”Jesus Harry, it’s not the mafia.”

”Believe me, I think that would have been less painful.”

Harry goes silent for a bit. He’s probably got his contemplative face on, the one he reserves for Very Important Decisions. Louis saw it last when Harry was deciding between a very ugly 2000-pound silk shirt and another, indistiguishable, 2000-pound silk shirt.

”Harry, _please_.”

”All right”, he sighs, and, by the sound of it, shifts a bit in his chair or hammock or palm frond-turned-sofa or whatever it is people lounge on when they’re in places where there are brooks.

”He got you a piano.”

Well, that was unexpected. ”A piano?”, Louis says, surprised and annoyed at himself for being surprised. Perhaps all the piano talk last week should’ve clued him in, but he didn’t think Nick would go that far. Pianos are excessively extravagant Valentine’s Day gifts, even for a so-called _glam celeb couple_ \- according to last week’s Hello! - such as him and Nick. They’re not glam. Two nights ago they ate greasy take-out pizza in front of the telly and wanked each other off on the sofa and fell asleep without showering in their bed, which was – still is – full of crumbs because Louis wanted a midnight snack so they shared half a pack of Custard Creams before nodding off.

”It’s not _just_ a piano”, says Harry, taking Louis’ silence as disappointment. He’s not disappointed, just annoyed that he now has to find something to top a fucking piano. ”It’s a special piano.”

Oh, great.

”What, like it’s made of chocolate or something?”

”I can’t believe you’re 27.”

”What do you mean then, special piano?”

”I don’t know, exactly – he wouldn’t say, probably because he didn’t trust me not to tell you, which – fair enough. But I think it used to belong to someone important, like, music-wise. He said you’d have a stroke when you found out.”

 _Oh Nick_ , Louis thinks. _You sly bastard_. A special piano that once belonged to some big name in the music industry means that he must’ve used his extensive list of contacts in the biz. All right, then. It’s not as if Louis doesn’t have a couple hundred people he could call to cash in a favor. Two can play at this game.

”Why are you laughing like that?” Harry asks, interrupting his scheming. ”You sound like a Bond villain.”

”Oh, Harry”, Louis sighs, ”you’ve got no idea what you’ve unleashed.”

Harry groans. It sounds like he’s in a fair amount of pain.”Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. I told you, that’s it from me.” The distant sound of running water escalates. Something that sounds unmistakeably like an eagle caws in the background.

”Jesus, where _the fuck are you_ anyway? On the top of a fucking mountain?”

”No”, Harry says calmly. ”I’m in Wales.”

*

Louis sets about with the next stage of his plan the minute he gets off the phone. It’s ok. All is well. He’s one step ahead of Nick again, and he’s not involving Harry this time, because he clearly can’t be trusted. He’s just going to pretend he knows nothing and play dumb while secretly organizing the best present ever. Valentine’s day is still two days away. He’s got time.

But he hasn’t got any ideas. This is bad. This is terrible. The problem is, when you’re a very rich, very successful popstar, and your boyfriend is also very successful and rich, money’s not really a thing. Which sounds terrible. But it’s true, in a way. He could buy Nick a car, except he’s already got one, and it’s very nice and expensive anyway. He could get him a horse. That would certainly top the piano, but he doesn’t know anything about horses, and he has no idea if Nick even likes horses.

 _how does Nick feel about horses?,_ he texts Harry, because it was probably stupid to think he could manage this without his help after all.

 _LOUIS NO,_ comes the reply after 23 seconds, followed by a frantic phone call where Louis has to promise Harry that he won’t buy a horse. He wouldn’t. It was a stupid idea anyway.

The answer comes to him in the shower later that night. All his best ideas happen in the shower; he should’ve gone in here hours ago. While Nick’s out with Pig for her evening walk, he throws himself over the phone and starts calling around. By the time they return, Pig’s muddy little paws all over him before Nick has time to take off his shoes, it’s done.

It’s perfect and it’s done and Valentine’s is two days away and there’s no way Nick has time to find anything better in the time remaining. Louis’ got this in the bag. He’s won. He is, without a doubt, the best boyfriend in the world.

*

He only gets to be smug about it for a day. Twenty-two point five hours, to be exact, because that is how long it takes until he gets a frantic phone call from Harry.

”It wasn’t me”, he opens with, which is never a good sign. ”It wasn’t me so you can’t blame me.” Louis is a bit offended that he immediately thought he would be blamed when, historically, Louis never blames Harry first. It’s always Liam’s fault. After eight years, Harry should have learned.

”Mate”, Louis says, opening his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa, apparently. It happens a lot when he’s home during breaks and Nick isn’t around – that’s what breaks are for, anyway. Sleeping and seeing Nick. So on the rare occasion that Nick has business that doesn’t involve him, like tonight’s dinner – he sleeps.

”It wasn’t me”, Harry repeats again. It’s becoming rather annoying.

”I’ve no idea know what you’re on about”, Louis says, yawning.

”I’m only telling you so you won’t think it was me when you find out, all right? But it wasn’t. He’s got some sort of creepy sixth sense.”

”Who does?”

”Grimmy.”

”Can we please move onto the part where I understand what this conversation is actually about?”

”He found out again. He knows that you know that he knows that you know.”

Louis sits up at that. ”What?”

”He knows that he knows – wait. He knows that you know that -”

” _Harry_ – ”

”He knows and I told you I didn’t want to be a part of this and now I’m the fucking Joey in this scenario and it’s all your fault.”

”Well”, Louis sighs, rubbing his eyes, ”shit.” His boyfriend, the evil genius, apparently. Who knew?

”So you’re not blaming me?”, says Harry tentatively, reminding Louis that he’s still there.

”Hmpf”, grunts Louis. ”I haven’t quite decided yet.”

”You’re a lot calmer than I thought you’d be.”

That is true. Louis is, frankly, just as surprised as Harry at this. ”Dunno”, he mumbles, sound half swallowed by a sofa cushion. ”Think I’m still half asleep.”

”I don’t like it when you’re calm”, Harry says. ”It’s all…wrong.”

”Do you know what he’s got planned, then?”

Harry swallows. It sounds well ominous. ”You’re not gonna like this. Or, I mean. If you were a normal person you’d fucking pass out with excitement, but you’re not, so.”

”Harry”, says Louis, feeling his heartrate pick up, ”spit it out.”

”You’re not gonna be able to top this”, Harry says, sounding apologetic.  

*

He can’t have lost. Louis Tomlinson does not lose. Ever. And yet, here he is. It’s the evening before valentine’s day and his boyfriend has outdone him. There’s no way he can get a hold of or arrange something that can top a private kickabout with David Beckham in such a short amount of time. Or rather, even if he had two months to plan it, he’d never find anything that could ever top _David Beckham_ coming over to their house and playing footie with Louis in _his own back garden_. He can’t even begin to imagine the strings Nick’s had to pull to make it happen. What kind of magical superpowers does his boyfriend have?

It’s just not possible. Louis is going to have to admit defeat. He wants to cry a bit, except that would be stupid. Nick’s gonna be so smug. He’s going to be absolutely unbearable. Oh _God._

He knows he’s projecting a bit, but it’s almost as if he can see the smugness on his face when Nick comes home a little over eleven, top two buttons of his shirt undone and his hair flopping every which way.

”Hell _o_ ”, Nick says cheerily, waving at Louis as if he were on the other side of a field instead of sitting on the sofa. He’s been drinking a little more than he should’ve on a work night, Louis can tell. He’s going to be in pain tomorrow.

 _That’s what you deserve for being so smug about it_ , Louis thinks, even if Nick technically hasn’t said anything about anything yet. He’s smug on the inside, though. He has to be. He’s got to know he’s won. He maybe knows Louis knows as well, probably told Harry ’cause he knew he’d tell Louis. He knows that he’s won, and he knows that Louis can’t do a thing about it. Smug bastard.

Nick drapes himself over the back of the sofa, pawing a bit to get at Louis, who scoots to the other end to get away from his smug hands.

”Noooo”, Nick slurs into the back of the sofa. ”C’mere”, he says, making grabby hands into the air. ”Where’d you go?”

”Right here”, Louis sighs, sounding far too affectionate than he wants to be, because even if Nick’s a secretly smug idiot, he’s also very adorably drunk. He shuffles closer and pats the back of Nick’s head where it slumps against the back of the sofa.

”You’re a bit drunk, aren’t you, love?”

Nick pouts. ”Think I am, yes.”

”Maybe not the best idea when you have to get up at five, is it?” Louis says, carding his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Nick’s neck.

Nick whines a bit pathetically into the fabric. ”No.”

Louis stands up and comes to stand behind Nick, puts a hand between his shoulder blades. ”Right then”, he says, stroking the exposed skin above Nick’s shirt collar with his thumb, ”let’s go to bed, yeah?”

They walk to the bathroom, Louis’ arm draped around Nick’s waist. Louis kind of forgets that he’s a bit angry with Nick – it’s kind of his weakness, how easily he forgets most things when he’s got his hands on Nick – until they’re brushing their teeth, standing side by side in front of the mirror, and Nick bends down to nuzzle Louis’ neck, toothpaste foam and all.

”Hey”, he whispers into Louis’ ear, except it’s not really a whisper, because Nick gets a bit forgetful about the volume of his own voice when he’s drunk, and it’s not really his ear, more his general neck area, ”are you excited about tomorrow?”

Louis raises both eyebrows. ”What, Friday? Nothing special about Friday, is it?”

”Dunno”, Nick says, ”is it?”

Louis bends down to spit in the sink. ”Why don’t you tell me?”

Nick does the same. ”Don’t think so.”

”Are you sure?” Spit.

”Yeah.” Spit.

Louis wipes his mouth. ”Why’d you ask if I was excited then?”

Nick drops his toothbrush into the glass with a clang. ”No reason.”

”That’s stupid”, Louis says, squaring his shoulders and staring at Nick in the mirror.

”Is it?”, asks Nick, staring back.

”Yes.”

They stand there for what feels like several minutes, but is probably more like ten seconds. Louis wants to win the staring contest, but he also thinks he needs to get Nick to bed, as he’s starting to sway a bit.

”Alright, Mystery Mike, let’s get some sleep”, he says, leading Nick into the bedroom with a hand on his back.

”Woud’ya – would”, Nick starts as he gets into bed, interrupted by his own giggles, ”would you still fancy me if that was my name?”

”What?” Louis asks, pulling the covers over them both and leaning over Nick to grab his phone from the nightstand. Nick’s got about three different alarms that are set to go off daily, but it doesn’t hurt to double check.

”Mystery Mike”, Nick slurs into the pillow, followed by more giggles.

Louis kisses his nose. ”Absolutely not.”

”Thought so”, Nick mumbles. ”Love you anyway.”

”Love you too, stupid. Now sleep, you have to be up in five hours.”

He’s certain Nick has fallen asleep, when his hand suddenly comes up to stroke Louis’ cheek – it ends up as more of a pinch, really, but he appeciates the sentiment. ”Thanks for always looking after me”, Nick whispers.

”Someone has to do it”, Louis whispers back, expecting another pinch for his cheek, but getting nothing more than a soft snore in return.

That’s when it hits him. He knows what he has to do now.

 *

Louis pretends to be asleep all the way through Nick’s alarm initially going off, the inevitable ten-minute snooze, the second alarm, Nick almost falling flat on his face putting on socks, and the twenty minutes it takes him to make and eat breakfast, which includes what sounds unmistakeably like cutlery hitting the kitchen floor twice. The minute he hears the front door slam, he’s out of bed in an instant and on the phone to Harry, before he changes his mind and hangs up after the first ring. Even if he does have a fairly good excuse to wake his friend up at 5.45 in the morning, it’s still inhumanly early. And anyway, it’s not as if he can get much done before the shops open anyway. He decides to have a shower and a proper breakfast for once before he gets to work.

He barely got any sleep last night, lying awake until almost two after the idea first popped into his head. He’d spent the time alternating between watching Nick sleep, his furrowed brow and the rise and fall of his chest, and staring at the ceiling, wondering if what he was thinking was actually a good idea or just madness – spurned on by the last two weeks of scheming and plotting and his own, frankly unhealthy at times, competetiveness.

Just before he’d finally nodded off though, Nick had sighed in his sleep, shifted around a bit, and his right arm had come to rest on Louis’ hip. The warmth of his big, strong hand had bleeded through the fabric of Louis’ boxer shorts, and he’d suddenly felt calmer, more relaxed than he’d had in weeks. It was right. It was the right thing to do.

 

He listens to the show while eating a nice, long breakfast. Nick’s got Cara Delevigne as a guest on today. Louis doesn’t often get the chance to listen to Nick’s show – he’s either still asleep or halfway across the world when it’s on.

”I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to ask this – and you should have seen it coming when you booked my show on this day of days – Valentine’s Day – hate it or love it?”

Cara groans and Nick laughs – from the sound of it, the kind of laugh where he throws his head back in delight. Louis never feels better or more special than when he makes Nick laugh like that.

”Should I take that as a no, then?” Nick asks.

”I dunno, kind of depends on whether you’ve got plans or not, doesn’t it?” Cara says. ”Like, if you’ve got someone that makes you happy and you’re gonna spend the day with them, yay, good for you, but if you’re single, it’s just a reminder that you’re probably gonna die alone, isn’t it?”

”Jesus”, Nick laughs, ”that’s bloody dark.”

”Have you got any plans, then, Grimmy?” Fifi shoots in, making Louis’ ears perk up a bit.

Nick doesn’t talk much about him, or them, on the show – not because they’re hiding or anything, but because what they have is private, and only for them. An important lesson Louis and the rest of the boys learned early on was the value of preserving something from the rest of the world. For Harry, it was his fears, his doubts, his bad days. For Louis, it has always been his closest relationships. That doesn’t mean that Nick never mentions him, or that he’s forbid people to talk about them on air. He just never brings him up unless there’s a reason for it, which there hardly ever is, anyway.

”I might have”, Nick says, dragging out the _might_. ”But I’m not gonna tell you.”

”He’s probably gonna go on, like, a luxury cruise on a boat made of diamonds”, Cara says, ”that’s what people do when they have rich popstar partners, right?”

”As if you Hollywood types can’t afford diamond boats”, Nick says, and then the conversation turns to talk of Cara’s latest movie, the one she probably went on the show to promote in the first place, and Louis tunes out a bit. Nick hasn’t got a clue what he’s in for tonight.

At 7.30, Louis’ patience finally wears off and he calls Harry, nervously pacing the kitchen floor while laying out his plan and what he needs Harry’s help with. It only takes him five minutes to stop crying long enough to write down Louis’ instructions.

”Are you sure you can be here with the stuff by noon?” Louis asks for probably the fifth time.

” _Yes_ , Lou, I can do it”, Harry says, punctuating his words with another sniff. ”It means so much to me that you trust me to do this, I won’t fuck it up.”

”Harry”, Louis sighs, ”I know you won’t fuck it up. I would’ve done it myself, but I just – I can’t be seen doing it, you know. Just in case it doesn’t – you know. Work.”

Harry makes a sympathetic noise. ”It’ll work, Lou. Trust me. It’s gonna be so _beautiful_.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Louis’ a little afraid he’ll start crying again, which is something he does not have time for.

”Alright, yeah, you’re right. Now get to work, see you soon.”

”I’ll make you proud”, Harry whispers before Louis manages to hang up.

*

He arrives half an hour before schedule, enveloping Louis in a suffocating hug without even putting down any of the numerous bags he’s holding first.

”Harry”, Louis croaks into the collar of his pea coat where he’s being crushed, ”can’t breathe.”

”Sorry, sorry”, mumbles Harry, releasing Louis from his death grip. His face is wide open and so, so earnest. ”I’m just so happy for you.” His eyes are shining. How embarrassing.

”Did you get everything?”, he asks, eyeing the bags. There’s five of them, and they’re all bright red and bulging, because Harry doesn’t understand how to be inconspicuous. 

”Yep, all in here”, Harry says, rustling the bags, ”except the most important bit, which I’ve got right…here.” From the pocket of his coat, Harry pulls out a small, black box, eerily similar to the one Louis found in Nick’s closet two weeks ago. The content’s a little more expensive, though.

”Holy shit”, is all Louis can say when Harry places the little velvety square in his palm. It’s heavier than it looks, somehow. Everything’s becoming very real all of a sudden.

”I hope you like it”, Harry mumbles, sounding nervous. Louis, for some reason, isn’t. He asked Harry to get the ring for him because he’s the only person in the world who knows both Louis and Nick better than they know themselves sometimes. He doesn’t even need to see it to know that it’s going to be perfect and Nick’s going to love it.

”Thank you so much”, Louis says, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. ”You’re a really good friend, Haz.”

”I know”, Harry says, before his bottom lip starts to tremble. Louis’ seen Harry’s just-about-to-cry-face enough times to know that he’s got about seven seconds to get him out of the house or all hell breaks loose.

”Jesus, Harry, save it for the wedding”, Louis says, grabbing him by the upper arm and leading him towards the door. ”You’re not quite done yet, remember – I need you to at least pretend to be a normal human being for a couple more hours.”

”Right, yeah, sorry”, Harry says, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his coat, ”so how long do you think you need?”

*

While Harry leaves to stall Nick for a couple of hours, Louis gets to work. The contents of the bags, once he gets all five of them upended and emptied, makes it look like St. Valentine himself came and took a giant, rose-scented dump on the kitchen table. There’s candles, chocolate, a bottle of (presumably) ridiculously expensive champagne, and roses. A sea of roses. Louis knows he gave the order – the words he used were along the lines of ’if you see something that’s romantic, get it’, but still. This is almost a bit excessive. But Louis has never proposed to anyone before, so he figures he might as well go for something classic.

He gets a text from Nick around two, while trying to avoid leaving a trail of blood on the freshly made bedsheets after stabbing himself on a particularly thorny rose for at least the fifth time in ten minutes.

_Ran into Harry on way from work – appaz he needs to tell me smth important over lunch?? Be home around four. Love you xxx_

Another one ticks in immediately

_Oh and u better prepare yourself for the best surprise ever!!_

_Sure_ , Louis thinks. _We’ll just see about that._

*

Nervous is not quite the right word to describe how Louis is feeling when he hears the key in the front door a little over four – but it’s not incorrect, either. And he’s not nervous for the apparent reason, either – that it’s a fairly rash desicion he made less than 24 hours ago and what if he regrets it? Perhaps that’s exactly why he’s so sure of what he’s doing – he hasn’t had time to overthink and overanalyse and go back and forth forever until it becomes an endless cycle of second-thinking and doubt. It feels right. It doesn’t feel rash and spontaneous. It feels like a very natural conclusion to the events of the past three years. He just hopes Nick feels the same. Just hopes he understands that this is about so much more than coming out on top. This isn’t about winning anymore.

”Are you ready for the surprise of a lifetime?” Nick yells from the hallway.

Okay. Maybe it’s still a little bit about winning.

”Hello? Louis? Pig? Anyone home?”

”Bedroom”, Louis manages to croak out. Maybe he should’ve done some vocal exercises to prepare himself. His throat’s suddenly very dry and he’s not sure his tongue is working anymore.

He can tell the exact moment Nick notices the rose petals, because his footsteps suddenly come to a halt.

”Louis”, Nick says, rather ominously. He sounds like he’s about five feet away. Louis feels himself start to sweat, and it’s not just because of the two billion candles he’s lit in the bedroom. He tugs on the collar of his button-up, tries to keep calm. Three, two, one…

”What the fuck?”, Nick says, appearing in the doorway.

”Hi”, Louis says, hoping his face is behaving properly, that what Nick sees right now is a smile, not the grimace he feels he’s producing. His insides feel a bit like they’ve been stuffed in a blender. Maybe nervous is the right word for it after all. ”Come in, then.”

Nick takes two small steps into the room, then stops, mouth hanging slightly open, taking it all in. Louis had, at one point while setting it up, thought that he’d maybe gone a little overboard with the candles, but now, seeing their combined light flicker across Nick’s features, turning his face into a canvas of warm colours, of light and shadows, he thinks it was worth it.

”Surprise”, Louis says, voice almost succeeding in drowning out his own heartbeat, going _thump-thump-thump_ in his chest. He needs Nick to come closer, or to say something, or to do anything other than standing halfway across the room looking bewildered.

”Did you do this?”, he says, finally, eyes flickering over to Louis before landing on the bed. ”I feel like I just walked into a movie.”

Louis glances over to where he’s looking, to their bed covered in hundreds and hundreds of rose petals that his fingers will be paying for in little painful scars for days to come. He suddenly feels a bit sheepish. Did he overdo it? Is it too much? Too obvious?

”Oh, you know”, he says, lifting a shoulder, ”it’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?”

”Thought we didn’t do Valentine’s Day”, Nick says, but he’s smiling now, the bastard.

”Did you now?”, Louis says, stepping closer. ”Sorry to disappoint, then.”

”Didn’t say that”, Nick hums, so close now that Louis could reach out and tug him closer. He will, later. He’s just got to do this one little thing first.

Hands trembling, heart pounding, legs shaking, he somehow manages to get down on one knee without toppling over. Nick’s sharp little intake of breath tells him he didn’t quite see it coming, even if Louis thinks spraypainting ”I’M GOING TO PROPOSE TO YOU” on the walls would’ve been more subtle. He doesn’t dare to look up yet, instead focusing on the pressure of the little black box inside his trouser pocket, how the outline of it squeezes against his thigh, while trying to remember what he wants to say and also how to breathe properly.

For a moment, the only sound in the room he can hear is his own shaky breath, until he tries to retrieve the ring and realizes he put the wrong foot forward, because he can’t fit his hand down the pocket.

”Shit fuck”, Louis mutters, trying to switch position without looking like too much of an idiot. He suspects it’s already too late for that. ”Hang on a minute.”

”Changed your mind already?” Nick murmurs from somewhere above him.

”I said hang _on_ ”, Louis hisses, eventually regaining his balance on the other leg. The box now free of the cramped pocket, he finally dares to look up at Nick.

It’s a bit hard to tell from this angle, in this light, but his eyes look a bit wet, and his face is impossibly soft. It’s possibly, perhaps, a good sign.

”Hi”, Louis says again.

”Hi”, Nick smiles. ”Did you not rehearse that bit?”

”Shut up”, Louis says, grinning. ”I already hate you a little for making me do this on Valentine’s Day, so just shut up and listen.”

”Hang on”, Nick sputters, ”I didn’t force you to do anything.”

”Of course you did! You started this whole thing and then made it impossible for me to top it! You left me no choice, really.”

”Now hang on – ”

”You know you did, and as annoying as that is, I also love you very much, so will you just for once in your life _shut up_ and let me do this?”

”Okay”, Nick whispers, nodding, ”go ahead.”

”Right. Okay.” Louis swallows, squeezes Nick’s hand before he continues. Nick squeezes back. ”I know I do a lot of stupid shit, and that I joke around a lot, and I know you like that, but just – this is not a joke, yeah? You and me? That’s not something I would – you know.” Nick gives another little squeeze.

”So, I guess you know what’s coming, and I guess I at least have a feeling what you’re gonna say, but I’m still gonna ask you, ’cause this is a – I’m gonna do this properly, okay?”

Nick nods and lets out a watery little laugh. Louis can feel his own voice starting to go mushy, can feel the strain at the back of his throat.

”Nicholas Peter Grimshaw, will you fucking marry me?”

Nick doesn’t say anything, just nods furiously, which is a bit hard for Louis to see because his eyes are suddenly filling with tears. He jumps up so quickly his head almost spins, throwing his arms around Nick’s neck and pressing their mouths together. It’s a bit wet, mostly from his tears and Nick’s tears and possibly some snot, too, and then he feels Nick’s big hands under his bum and he’s being lifted up. He keeps kissing him while he wraps his legs around Nick’s waist, doesn’t stop kissing him until Nick almost knocks a candle over while trying to manoeuvre them over to the bed and they’re not really kissing any more, just laughing into each other’s mouths.

”Careful”, Louis says, pulling back a little to look at Nick, ”I wanna be engaged for more than two minutes before dying in a tragic fire.”

Nick puts him down and kisses his forehead. ”Are we officially engaged if you forgot the ring, though?”, he says into Louis’s hair, smiling.

He’s right. Still clutched tightly in Louis’ right hand is the little box from the jewellery store, unopened.

”Shit”, Louis laughs, leaning his head against Nick’s shoulder. ”Sorry”, he mumbles into his shirt, ”got a little carried away.”

”Well I’m definitely changing my answer now”, Nick says, his hand resting on the back of Louis’ neck.

”I get it”, Louis sighs, ”it’s only what I deserve.”

Nick laughs. ”Let’s have a look at it, then.”

They open it together, Louis just as curious as Nick. It’s absolutely gorgeous; a delicate loop of white gold with a noticeable, yet unflashy diamond in the middle – perfect for Nick’s beautiful, slender fingers. He likes it, too, judging by the little squeak he emits when Louis slides it on his finger.

”How did you even have time to buy a ring?” he asks as he admires the way it looks on his hand from various angles.

Louis just smiles and kisses his cheek. ”That, my love, is a story for another day.”

*

Later that evening, when they’re both thoroughly sated after three rounds of celebratory sex, or _engagement sex_ , as Nick had insisted on calling it, bodies too sleepy and heavy to even remove the remaining rose petals from their bed, Louis’ phone gives three impatient little _pings_.

”No”, he says to the phone from his comfortable position in Nick’s arms. ”Go away.”

 _Ping_ , says his phone.

”Could be important”, Nick mutters, barely intelligible because he’s trying to speak while simultaneously kissing down the column of Louis’ neck.

 _Ping_ , Louis’ phone insists, while a flick of Nick’s tongue sends shivers down his entire spine. He could really get used to this whole being engaged thing.

”Nothing’s more important than this”, Louis hums, leaning into the touch. ”Your hands, my skin, and the sweet, sweet smell of victory.”

Nick stops kissing his shoulder rather abruptly. ”I’m sorry, what?”

”Oh please, you know I’ve got this in the bag.” He turns around in Nick’s arms, giving him his most winning smile. ”Admit defeat, old man. Nothing beats a proposal.”

 _Ping_ , agrees his phone. Nick groans, letting his head slump on the pillow. ” _Please_ answer your phone before I crush it with my bare hands.”

”If you admit I won.”

” _Yes_ , you won and you’re brilliant and you’re the best boyfriend in the history of forever.”

”…and?”

”And you’ve got the best bum in the world.”

”Thank you”, Louis chirps, planting a kiss on Nick’s cheek before reaching over for his phone.

The messages are all from Harry.

 

_21.43 so how did it go???_

_21.43 I mean obviously he said yes but how much did he cry_

_21.43_   _i want details_

_21.44 okay I realize you’re both busy right now but call me when you can_

_21.44 okay sorry I’ll stop bothering you_

_21.47 oh jesus christ lou you owe me so many favours_

_21.48 i’ve already got ten missed calls from mum_

the final message also contains a link to an article posted by The Sun not half an hour ago. ”WHO’S HARRY’S SECRET VALENTINE?”, it says, above a slideshow of Harry from this morning’s shopping trip – Harry buying chocolate, Harry with his arms full of roses, Harry leaning over the counter of a jewellery shop.

If Louis ever manages to stop laughing, he’ll find a way to make it up to him.

 


End file.
